Better to Have Loved and Lost
by Nyiestra
Summary: When Wilson falls suddenly ill, the resulting diagnosis becomes a lesson in love and loss for all concerned. HouseWilson strong friendship, undertones of WilsonCameron.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Better to Have Loved and Lost

**Summary:** When Wilson falls suddenly ill, the resulting diagnosis becomes a lesson in love and loss for all concerned.

**Rating:** T

**A/N:** My medical background consists of Google searches and WebMD. I think I've gotten things mostly right, but I'm sure I've manipulated some stuff here and there. Please bear with me.

**Disclaimer:** As much as I adore Jimmy Wilson, I do not own him or any aspect of House. I'm going to go cry now.

**Chapter 1**

"You have a patient."

"Sorry, no can do." House pushes himself up off his chair. "See the time? I have exactly three minutes and twenty-seven… twenty-six… twenty-five seconds to get to a TV or I'll miss the beginning of General Hospital. That happens and I'll be in a really bad mood." He raises his eyebrows to his hairline before giving her puppy-dog eyes that don't even make her waver.

"You have a patient." She repeats herself. This time her voice is shaking as she thrusts the file into his hands. "Cuddy, what's so spec…" he trails off, glancing at the name on the tab. "Wilson?" His stomach bottoms out.

"He was just admitted; he… he seized in his office. He's awake now but he's demanding to see you." There's something she isn't saying but he has the feeling he'll find out soon enough.

"Wilson doesn't demand anything."

"He does now."

"Come with." He limps away from his desk.

"He doesn't want to see me. He doesn't want to see anyone but you."

He walks out the door and Cuddy trails behind him as far as the door to Wilson's room, but waits outside.

Wilson with an oxygen mask, hooked up to all the regular monitors, is more disconcerting than he'd like to admit. He wonders if this is how his friend felt when he was hospitalized. "So, Cuddy walks into my office with a file, prattling on about this pushy… wait, demanding was the word she used, patient. Imagine my surprise when I find out how it is."

Wilson gives him a weak half-smile. "Sorry." The word is some mix of slurred and lisped.

House shrugs, then nods toward the IV. "Did they somehow damage your sense of humor when they shoved that needle into your arm?" He gets a quick nod in response. "Well, remind me before I leave that I should tell Cuddy that the Hospital's getting a lawsuit that's actually in no way related to me."

"No lawsuit." Definite slurred speech.

House closes the door, effectively leaving Cuddy out of the conversation. She'll stay anyway and he'll decide later whether to tell her whatever Wilson tells him.

"What do you remember?"

He taps his head lightly and then points to his eye. "Blurry."

"Blurred vision. Slurred speech. Seizure." He repeats the words in his mind as well. Keeps him focused, in true doctor form. None of that pesky 'friend' stuff getting in the way. "Headache?"

Wilson nods and House adds it to the mantra playing through his mind. Headache's been continual for the last week or so; Wilson's looked exhausted too. He sets the file down on a chair and stands by the bed. He takes Wilson's hand, holding it just intimately enough to have crossed the line between doctor and friend and then says, "Squeeze my hand." Normal, firm grip from the right hand. He reaches across to take the left. "Again." This is Wilson's dominant hand and the grip is incredibly weak. "Weakness on the left side of the body." Another for the list. Explained the half-smile too.

"Blurred vision," Wilson manages, and House frowns. "Headache."

And memory problems. "I'm gonna run an MRI, a CT scan, maybe a PET scan." He holds Wilson's gaze and lies through his teeth, though the lie isn't much better than the suspected truth. "Looks like a stroke. Though I'd like to know why a healthy man under forty would have a stroke."

"You're a bad liar."

House's eyes widen until he elicits a laugh from Wilson. "I'm a great liar."

"Not to friends."

"I lie to Cuddy. But she just pretends to be a friend. She's really the anti-Christ, trying to find a way to utilize me in her plans of world domination."

"Cuddy doesn't believe you anymore."

He doesn't say anything, just glances back at the notations and nods once. "I'll have Foreman run the MRI." It's his way of asking if Wilson wants it kept quiet, though it wouldn't make it outside of his team anyway. Well, and Cuddy. His friend just nods.

"Hang in there." He clasps Wilson's good hand once more, very tightly, and releases.

Cuddy is, as he knew she would be, still in the corridor. "Either he doesn't know what it is and he's scared, or he thinks it's cancer and he's scared."

"So, scared being the common denominator here. And you drew theat conclusion how?"

"Because he wouldn't talk to anyone but you."

House cocked his head to the side. "That's because he's barely able to talk at all. Neurological thingies are nasty like that. They really screw up karaoke night."

"Watch it; your defense mechanism is flaring up. Might want to get that looked at."

"It does that from time to time. No biggie. Pill-popping does wonders for it." He draws out the Vicodin bottle and rattles it. "Sounds like you could use one too."

"Uh-huh. No. What is it?"

"He thinks it's cancer. Brain tumor."

"He said that?"

"No, but he called me a liar when I said I thought it was a stroke. Same thing."

She lifts an eyebrow and then shakes her head but doesn't bother to ask. He takes great pride in the fact that she can never follow his logic. "Sure. Any idea where--"

"Not right now." He pulls out his pager and sends a message to his minions simultaneously. "Gonna run an MRI and a CT scan. Depending on the results, a PET scan. I'm also ordering an ECG. "

"It's not a stroke."

He pauses. "I know. I'm gonna run an ECG."

-------------------------

"We have a case. Thirty seven-year-old male, active, generally in good health. Patient seizes. Now he's showing blurred vision, slurred speech, and weakness on the left, dominant side of his body. Has had a headache for the last week or so, which he tells the attending, and then forgets that he told him and tells him again two minutes later. Possible causes?"

"Sounds like a stroke," Chase says.

Cameron shakes her head. "Thirty-seven is young for a stroke. If he had one, then there's something else wrong with him."

Foreman nods. "Yeah, but it would explain the blurred vision, the headache, weakness. And the stroke could have caused the seizure."

"The seizure could have also caused the speech problems, instead of whatever caused the seizure causing them. Seizure could have caused most of those problems, actually."

"Seizure as cause and effect. I like it. So what causes seizures other than stroke?" House writes 'stroke' on the top of the board.

"Drug use," Cameron suggests, but House shakes his head.

"No drug use."

Foreman frowns, one eyebrow raised. "Everybody lies, remember?"

"Patient isn't using drugs."

The frown turns to an expression of confusion. "Right. Okay, well… diabetes could cause a seizure."

"No family history of diabetes; nothing in the prelim blood work."

"Fever seizure?" Cameron's thinking out loud. "Or it could be meningitis."

House shakes his head. "Patient hasn't complained of neck pain."

"Most people don't know that they should. Was the patient asked about neck pain?"

"Patient's a doctor; he'd have mentioned it. There's no neck pain. And there's no fever either."

"A doctor?" He ignores her and glances toward Chase.

"Encephalitis. Or toxoplasmosis."

"Didn't display any sensitivity to light. No cold or flu-like symptoms. Not sick."

"He had a seizure. I'd say that's pretty sick." Chase is really so cute when he argues for a point.

"Oh, you know what I mean." House frowns at them. "So we're back to stroke."

Cameron's frowning. "Could be cancer."

Foreman nods. "Brain tumor, or something else neurological."

"There's CNS lymphoma," Chase mentions. "But he's kind of on the young side."

"So we'll go with stroke for now."

"Why stroke? Cancer's more likely, given his age." Chase is questioning and being stubborn about an idea that wasn't even his. House likes that. Then Chase rolls his eyes. "Where's Wilson? He'll convince you." Oh, the irony.

"Why would a healthy 37-year-old have a stroke?" Cameron asks. She's not trying to discredit him; there's a genuine question in her eyes.

House shrugs. "I don't know; for one thing, he's obviously not very healthy. Do an MRI and a CT. They'll show us either a tumor or a stroke. And do an ECG."

Foreman stands. "Echo. For a stroke."

"I told you we're going with a stroke."

"Why?"

Damn if Foreman isn't too persistent for his own good -- or, really, for House's own good. "Why not?" He sighs. "If it's cancer we'll find it through the MRI anyway. If it's a stroke, we need to know now so we can look for the cause."

"The MRI and the CT scan will show you if it's a stroke. We don't need an ECG."

"Just do the ECG."

Cameron changes the subject. "Why us? It doesn't sound like there's anything… that would interest you about the case."

He frowns at her. "Well, I want to know why a healthy 37-year-old has a stroke."

"It's not a stroke," Chase presses. "You're trying too hard to make us think it is. Which means there's something you're not telling us."

"I tend to do that when I know I'm right." He gives a tight-lipped smile. "Nothing special. Except the patient's name." He hands Cameron the file he's been clutching like his life depends on it. Her eyes go wide and he swears he can already see tears. Soundlessly, she passes it on to Foreman and Chase.

He waits a minute or so before continuing. "You're right. Probably not a stroke. Foreman, Chase, do the MRI and the CT. Cameron, do the ECG and try to resist becoming Wilson's fourth wife."

He moves to sit behind his desk. Their meeting is over.


	2. Chapter 2

**Brace42** - Thanks. When I write, I try to do it so I can hear the characters' voices in my head. Glad its working :)

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**Disclaimer:** As much as I adore Jimmy Wilson, I do not own him or any aspect of House. I'm going to go cry now.

**Chapter 2**

"He wants it to be a stroke." Chase is staring at the MRI monitor before the test even starts. "Because it means Wilson might live."

Foreman snorts. "Stroke isn't much better than a brain tumor. Wilson's the healthiest person in this hospital. If he had a stroke, at his age, there's a much bigger problem. And I don't know what it is."

"We'd figure it out; _House_ would figure it out," Chase replies.

"It's so weird, knowing it's Wilson," Cameron murmurs. "He's so different right now."

"Yeah." Foreman leans toward the microphone. "How you doing, Wilson?"

"Okay." The slurring isn't as prominent as it was, which suggests it's a result of the seizure. His body is recovering from the shock.

"House doesn't actually believe it's a stroke," Chase points out. "He said as much. He's trying to convince himself that it's possible."

"Or he's trying to convince Wilson."

"Wilson's not that stupid." Cuddy's apparently decided to join them. "House knows what it is. So does Wilson. He's playing games with himself right now, and only God knows why." She pauses and studies the monitor. "See anything?"

"Not yet. We'll let you know," Chase promises.

"Thanks. I actually came to warn you that House is probably going to be in a pretty lousy mood when you see him again."

"What did you do?" Cameron smacks Chase in the back of the head.

"I'm sure it was House, not her."

"No, actually, this time it was me. I called Julie, Wilson's ex-wife. She's the closest thing he has to family right now, and I thought she should know. He could use somebody."

"Yeah, House isn't gonna be happy," Chase mutters at the screen. "Not that he ever is."

-------------------------

"MRI came back--" Foreman starts as the trio walk into the Diagnostic office, but House cuts him off.

"Cuddy is an idiot. Actually, she's something way beyond 'idiot' but I don't feel like looking in my thesaurus right now."

"And she would say the same of you," the neurologist replies. "The idiot part, at least. But that's an argument I'm not going to get into. Anyway, the MRI--"

"Just what a man in Wilson's condition needs, his ex-wife hanging around harping and getting in the way."

"Julie isn't harping," Cameron protests. "She's just sitting in his room staring off into space. She's just keeping him company."

"You of all people should be the most upset," House retorts. "What with your love for him blossoming as his condition grows more dire and dim."

Cameron grits her teeth. "What do you care? You have his medical proxy. You have control if he can't make decisions. She's doing nothing but try to be of some comfort to him. Which is something you're certainly not capable of doing."

House's face clouds and Chase gives Foreman a shove into the middle of the room. "So, about that MRI."

Foreman finishes for him. "Not good news."

"What is it?"

"Not a stroke," Foreman says pointedly. "A tumor on the stem of his brain. Inoperable. He's got cancer."

House nods, looking down at his desk, and pops a Vicodin despite the fact that he's not actually in much pain at the moment. Physical, at least. "What are the chances?"

"Well, I'm not an oncologist," Foreman replies pointedly.

"We'll be getting an oncologist's perspective soon enough. I'll take the neurologist's for now."

"Judging by the size, and the damage that's been done -- though some of it's reversing temporarily on its own and was probably more due to the trauma of the seizure than anything else -- I'd guess a year and a half at the most. More like a year, if that. Have to do a biopsy to be sure, take a look at the cells. Looks diffuse."

He nods again. "Tell Cuddy what you found. Wait on going to Wilson; I'll do it myself." It's a dismissal and Foreman and Chase leave; Cameron stays behind.

She sits at the table and stares at the whiteboard. It's obvious she's trying not to cry. A few tears escape anyway. "It doesn't seem fair."

"That would be because it isn't. Life isn't fair. I thought I'd drummed that into your head by now. Have to try harder. Though, maybe, this will do it."

"He dedicates his life to fighting the thing that's going to end up killing him."

House shrugged. "Seems pretty logical to me."

She stares at him, incredulity shining behind the tears. "He's your best friend. He's dying. Don't you care?"

There's no mirth, no joking tone in his voice when he replies. "Don't ever ask me that again."

"I'm sorry."

He plays with his pill bottle. "Crying over it not being fair isn't going to do anyone any good. Wilson is my _only_ friend. But for the time being I am his doctor. Once we get the biopsy results, he gets an oncologist and I can go back to being his little buddy with the limp and the lousy attitude and I can cry like… well, like you. The same goes for you. Well, without the limp, though your attitude leaves something to be desired as far as I'm concerned. And saying that you'll cry like yourself is a little weird. But anyway… until then, you're his doctor."

"I'm not going to make you deliver the bad news. I should, and I probably would if it actually had to be delivered. But Wilson already knows that he won't see next Christmas. I am, however, going to make you grow up. You're a doctor. Start acting like it."

"I care, so you say I'm being childish?"

"Your caring impairs your ability to do your job. That's why I say you're childish. Being a doctor sucks. Especially for people like Wilson. He loses more patients in six months than I see in a year. I'm not counting the morons in the clinic because most of them don't count as people. Definitely not patients. You stay in diagnostic medicine, you will lose patients. You will lose them because they are too far beyond your help when they get to you. That's Wilson. You will lose them because medicine is just not advanced enough to do what we need it to do. That was Cindy Lou whatever-her-name-was. You will lose them because you can't find out what's wrong. You will lose them because you screw up. It happens. It's part of the job. Get used to it. It's why we have lawyers, malpractice insurance, and massive amounts of alcohol."

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't care."

"Yes, it does. You've seen Wilson's patients. You've seen him with them. Most of them are good kids in terrible situations and there's nothing he can really do for them except try to let them live a little longer a little more comfortably. And he acts like he cares. He listens to them. He holds them. He even sleeps with one once in a while." He probably wasn't supposed to say that, but Cameron either doesn't notice, doesn't care, or thinks he's just being an ass. Probably the latter.

"But you don't know Wilson as well as I do. I saw him when he still did care. I've talked him out of suicide three times. Because he cared too much. You want to see me care, you should have seen me the night he was half a step from jumping off the hospital roof, or the night he was planning on emptying a full bottle of sleeping pills. I care about my friends, not my patients." He hesitates. "After the third time he stopped caring."

"I don't believe that."

"You are always so literal." He sighs. "Yes, he still cares. Yes, I care about my patients -- no matter how it seems. But not the way you do. I care about making them _better_. You just care about _them_. And you need to get over it, now. Or you need to find another job. Become a pediatrician or something. That way, when a kid gets sick, you ship him off to a specialist and all is right in the world as far as you're concerned. Though, knowing you, you'd probably follow the kid all the way to the morgue." He shrugs. "Ask Wilson. He'll tell you."

"Can I be with you when you tell him?"

He's taken aback by the request and considers denying, because he wants Wilson to react when he tells him, not shut down, and he's more likely to shut down if there's someone else in the room. But maybe it will be good for them both.

Now, to keep Cameron from falling in 'love'…

"Fine. Let's go."

-------------------------

When House and Cameron walk into Wilson's room, there is absolutely no hope in Wilson's eyes. It's unnerving to see such quiet resignation. Julie isn't there.

"MRI?" His speech pattern is something resembling normal, and when he forces a smile it doesn't look quite so uneven.

"Yes." He says the word -- at least, he thinks he says it -- but it comes out in Cameron's voice. No. She is not picking now to get over this whole stupid caring thing. He takes over, steps in front of her. He can feel her surprised scowl at his back.

"You have an inoperable tumor on your brainstem. We can do a stereotactic biopsy, identify it, and then do some combination of chemo and radiation." He's saying things that Wilson already knows, and Wilson's just sitting there like some clueless patient who's never heard the word 'biopsy' in his life. "Obviously, you can refer yourself to whomever you'd like. I'd still like to go ahead with a CT scan, give whatever doctor you choose a little better idea of what he's dealing with."

"Do the biopsy."

"It's risky," Cameron speaks up again. House rolls his eyes; as if Wilson doesn't know that.

The oncologist shrugs. "Do it. It's not like I have a lot to lose."

"CT scan?"

"May as well." Wilson leaned back on his pillows and sighed. "That's the easy part. But do the biopsy first; it'll take longer for the results."

House sends Cameron to prep for the biopsy and then turns to Wilson. "Speak now or forever hold your peace." He locks the door.

Wilson quirks an eyebrow. "What happens if I seize and you collapse?"

"The chances of those happening at the same time have got to be a million to one." He pauses. "But then, half of what we see here has a million-to-one shot. So… eh, still not going to happen."

"Under most circumstances I wouldn't be willing to stake my life on that…"

"Under most circumstances there wouldn't be a chance of you seizing. But this isn't most circumstances."

"Really?" Wilson's eyes go artificially wide. "I hadn't noticed."

"I'm better at that than you are."

"You always were."

"Always will be."

"Well, yes, I don't envision improving in the next six months."

"Yeah. Well, on the topic of the fact that you have cancer and are _dying_… remember that conversation we had, about brave little cancer girl, the one who comforted mom when we told her that she wasn't far from dead?"

Wilson rolls his eyes. "I have a slight recollection." House knows he knows exactly what he's talking about. "You thought there was something wrong with her amygdala, that she wasn't properly processing fear."

"Yeah. Now, see, that was because we didn't know what was wrong. We know what's wrong with you, and that tumor you've got isn't having that effect. It's not in the right spot. So stop acting and be a human being."

"House--"

"Cry, damn it. Pray to… whoever the hell it is you pray to, to spare your life. Scream. Get hysterical. Something."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to."

"It's me. It's not Cameron or Chase or Foreman or Cuddy. Or Julie. It's me."

"What's your point?"

"You're dying. I know you well enough to know that you aren't some religious fanatic who believes that God decides to take people for a reason and you should be at peace with it. Which means you should be angry. Or scared. Or something. And you're not letting yourself."

"Of course I'm not letting myself."

"Why?"

"Because it's you."

"You've cried in front of me before."

"Because I was drunk and had a bottle of sleeping pills in my hand."

"Jimmy."

"Greg."

"I've never asked you to let me in. You don't ask me to either. But I'm asking now. I shut people out after the infarction. It was a mistake. But I always let you in."

Wilson scowls at me. "You never let me in! Yes, you let me hear you scream -- at me. But you never let me in. You never talked to me. You used me as a verbal punching bag because you weren't well enough to actually stand up and hit something for real. You didn't let me in."

"So you won't now."

"The fact that I won't cry in front of you now has nothing--" The man goes stock-still.

"Wilson? Wilson!" House's eyes dart toward the monitors as he waves a hand in front of his friend's face.

He's seizing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** As much as I adore Jimmy Wilson, I do not own him or any aspect of House. I'm going to go cry now.

**A/N:** This chapter came out kinda long, and Chapter 4 will be short, but they broke naturally. Forgive me for the inconsistency, please. 

**Chapter 3**

"We're still going to do the biopsy, but do it carefully," House says, standing in front of and scrutinizing the whiteboard like there's something he's missed. Cameron wishes there was. "Two seizures in a day and a half. In case you were wondering, that's not good."

"No, really?" Foreman rolls his eyes.

Cameron leans her chin on her hand and studies her boss. "How's he doing now?"

House shrugs. "Great for having brain cancer."

She stares at him, mouth opening and closing a couple times in rapid succession. She's never doubted he's a cold, unfeeling bastard but to be so nonchalant, almost joking, about Wilson's illness…. She gets up and walks out without so much as a word, before he can see the tears in her eyes and target her for them.

"He's in rare form, isn't he?" It isn't until she's walked past Wilson's office that she realizes the ex-Mrs. Wilson is standing just down the hall.

Cameron blinks. She's been introduced to Julie, seen her a couple times at hospital events, but the woman's never spoken to her before. There's something in her voice and Cameron decides she might prefer Julie continued not speaking to her. "Well, I wouldn't really call it rare, per se. But yeah."

"He loves James. I think James might be the only person he's ever loved, aside from Stacy. Different ways, but… the emotion is remarkably similar." She pauses. "Though I'm fairly sure that Greg is the only person James has ever loved. In any way."

"You make it sound like it's his fault that you had an affair." House was right; Cuddy shouldn't have called Julie.

"It was both our faults. I never really believed that there was a limit on how much a person could care. But James cared so much for his patients, for Greg, for all of you, that I never really felt like he had anything left for me."

"And you cared so much for your boyfriend you never had anything left for your husband. Sorry, but I'm really struggling to feel sympathy for you. I'm trying, but it's just not working."

Wilson's third wife raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "You've learned from Greg, I see. That biting wit cuts a little. Be careful you don't cut yourself with it. Like Greg did." She turns to walk away and Cameron, bewildered, calls to her.

"Why did you come up here?"

Julie turns back. "My ex-husband was asking for you. I think he needs a shoulder to cry on."

-------------------------

Wilson doesn't take his eyes off the ceiling as the door opens. "Julie said you wanted to see me?" Cameron closes the door and crosses to his bedside, brushing her fingertips over his forehead. It's a more intimate gesture than he's seen her use with normal patients, but he doesn't mind.

"I… don't remember." He remembers Julie being there; he doesn't remember when she left or why. He has a vague recollection of anger, but that might just be his own.

"She said you might need a shoulder to cry on." Her hand moves to his, squeezing it lightly.

He studies her. Cameron's eyes are just as expressive as House's, but in a different way. He hasn't learned to read them yet but he can tell there's something she's holding back. "From the look on your face that's not all she said."

Her lips part in a rueful smile. "No, it's not. House was being a bastard."

"I hope that's not supposed to be something out of the ordinary. If it is, there's more wrong with my brain than we think."

"I should have added 'as always.'"

"You should have. Remember, I'm easily confused now." He's smiling.

"No you're not. Though there are probably people in the hospital who wish you would be."

"Probably." Undeniably.

"Anyway, he was being a bastard and she started talking about how he loves you, and you're the only person other than Stacy that he's probably ever loved." She hesitates, and he notices. He can guess why; it isn't hard.

He and Julie have had the very conversation he suspects Cameron was subjected to, many times over. "And from there it went into something about my inability to love, I'm sure."

"Yeah." Cameron tugs uncomfortably at her hair and when she speaks again her voice is even softer. "She said House is the only person you've ever loved, that you cared so much for him and your patients and other people that she didn't feel like you had anything left for her. I told her that I couldn't be too sympathetic because it seemed like she cared so much for her boyfriend she had nothing left for you."

Wilson laughs until he starts coughing. "House would be proud."

Cameron pours him a cup of room-temperature water and smirks. "Yeah, Julie told me to be careful not to cut myself on my biting wit like House did."

"I don't know what her problem is. I'm sorry, Cameron."

"She's not your wife anymore; you don't have to apologize for her."

"Well, it was probably something I said that put her in a lousy mood, and you were just the most convenient target."

"Don't. She was fine until I told her off." She reaches up, smoothing the same unruly lock of hair off his forehead. "You didn't talk to House, did you?"

"We talked; he gave me a seizure." Not the answer she was looking for, no doubt.

"He does have that effect sometimes, doesn't he?"

"More often than not. He was… he was looking for me to cry on his shoulder or scream at him or I don't know what. He thinks I should be angry."

"You should be. If you aren't, then you really ought to talk to someone."

He barks a bitter laugh. "Trust me, I'm angry. I don't drink… much. Certain times in my life more than others." He can make out just the slightest stutter to his words and wonders if it's the tumor or the pain that's causing it. "I don't smoke or use any kind of drugs. I tried to kill myself once, years ago." It's a lie, but she doesn't need to know that. "I eat right. I exercise. I'm not evil…" That elicits a small laugh from his visitor. "I'd like to think I'm a pretty decent person. But… I'll be dead in a year. For no reason at all."

He closes his eyes and squeezes her hand, tightly. "Of all people, I should have come in sooner."

"We should have noticed, too." Cameron closes her eyes, blinking against tears. A few slip down her cheeks and, at the sight of them, his own self-control cracks. The tears he'd managed to hold back behind a slowly crumbling wall when House was in the room finally overflow.

Cameron moves to sit on the edge of the bed, leans over and wraps her arms around him. He sobs into her shoulder, his body shaking violently. He _is_ angry; there's only one other time in his life he's been this angry.

The day he came back from California to find House changed, forever.

-------------------------

It's House who drags Cameron out of Wilson's room so Foreman and Chase can perform the biopsy.

"He talk to you?" he asks her gruffly.

She hesitates; he won't be pleased. But maybe if he wasn't such an ass… "He said you gave him a seizure."

He looks stunned for a moment, then his mind must register that she's teasing, because his expression returns to its default scowl.

They walk toward Diagnostics, side by side. "He is angry, and he's in a lot of pain. But I think he feels like, even now, he has to be strong for you. He's been doing it so long; it's so ingrained in him that it's just a part of who he is that he can't escape no matter how much he needs to."

"Just so long as he talks to someone." House starts to walk faster and she stops, incredulous, and stares at his back.

"You are just as bad!" Her voice is louder than she'd intended it to be and not a few people stop and give her curious looks. Must have been louder than she'd thought; most people don't pay House, or the rest of the Diagnostic Department, any attention at all anymore.

He stops short, whether at her words or her tone she doesn't know, but doesn't turn right away. "What?"

"You don't want him to talk to _someone_. You want him to talk to _you_, and it kills you that he won't."

At that, he turns to face her. "Stop psychoanalyzing me. Many minds far surpassing yours have tried to penetrate this thick skull and been forever traumatized by what they saw. Including Wilson. Go shrink his brain." He winces visibly, most likely at his choice of words. "Damn it."

"If you want him to let you in, you have to let him in. Tell him how much it hurts."

"I did let him in. Six years ago I let him in. I let him in more than anyone else I've ever known. Including Stacy."

"Well, obviously, he doesn't feel he can completely open up with you. One of you has to be the first to give. Are you really going to make it be him? He'll die before that happens. He won't subject himself to your ridicule unless you prove to him that you actually want to listen."

"Yes, he will."

"No he won't."

"If you think you know him better than me--"

"He just spent an hour crying in my arms. I may not know him better than you, but I do know what's going through his head now. You don't. You have to talk to him. _You_ have to talkto _him_. Not try to make _him_ talk to _you_."

"And say what?"

Is he actually asking her for advice? She might have to write this down… rather, paint it on the wall somewhere everyone will see. "Tell him the truth. Tell him you're scared for him, that it's going to hurt you to lose him. Tell him you're taking too many pills because you can't deal with what's happening to him. Open up. Tell him you love him." She hesitates. "Tell him you'll cry when he dies."

There's a strange… uncertainty… in his eyes. "I don't know if I will."

"Then lie to him."

Something in her gaze must make him uncomfortable and he changes the subject. "What did Julie want?"

"She was just being jealous."

"Of who?"

"Everyone that Wilson's ever cared about," she replies dryly. "She said he cared so much for everyone else that he couldn't care about her."

"Oh, boo hoo. All she cared about was getting an illicit piece of ass from."

"That's what I told her; I don't think she appreciated it." The look he gives her is half disbelief, half grudging approval. "She came up because Wilson apparently asked for me to come down."

He frowns. "Apparently?"

"Yeah. He didn't remember by the time I got there that he'd asked for me."

"Still the intermittent memory problems."

"Yeah." She winces. "Not really getting better or worse."

"Interesting." He starts walking again and she doesn't bother following.


	4. Chapter 4

**Brace42** - Sorry, was in a rush to post the last time and didn't get a chance to respond to you. This story is more about the relationships, the fear, and the pain of facing the potential loss of a friend than about the diagnostic process. But... no, the process isn't done yet.

**Renify** - Thank you so much for quoting! I love when people quote lines they like. And I absolutely loved that exchange, so I'm glad someone else did too. :)

* * *

**Disclaimer:** As much as I adore Jimmy Wilson, I do not own him or any aspect of House. I'm going to go cry now. **A/N:** This is a really short chapter, but that's how it worked out. I like it a lot; I hope you do. 

**Chapter 4**

Foreman comes in the next morning with the biopsy results in hand. Cameron looks up, remembering a certain conversation outside a certain girl's hospital room. "You know, if Wilson goes back to work at all, even just to close his cases, he's going to see the results for himself." Talk about bittersweet.

"What is it?" House taps his pen on the desk but doesn't look even remotely interested.

"Diffuse Anaplastic Astrocytoma. Malignant and terminal." Foreman speaks matter-of-factly, his voice empty of the satisfaction he'd normally flaunt at being right. There's a tone Cameron doesn't think she's ever heard before and it actually hurts her heart a little. Her chest tightens and tears sting her eyes.

Their boss twirls the pen before tossing it aside; finally, a gesture of frustration. "What's the prognosis?"

"Given its location Brown said he probably has a year; maybe six months before there's serious degeneration in his mental function." Foreman gives House a slightly pitying look. "He asked if you want to tell Wilson, or you want him to. I told him I thought you'd want to."

"Yeah." He glances at them each in turn. "Go… do clinic hours or something. Make Cuddy happy, and give yourselves a break from thinking too hard."

They all rise, exchanging uncertain glances, and wordlessly head for the door.

"Notice how he makes clinic sound like it's some sort of reward," Chase mutters as the threesome trail out of the conference room. As they walk down the hall, each pretends not to notice the others glancing back toward their boss.

-------------------------

Julie is with Wilson when House walks into the room. "We got the biopsy back." He hands the page to Wilson, to let him see it for himself. The man is still an oncologist, and there's no point in beating around the bush, especially considering this is far from a surprise by now. "Terminal."

"Fascinating. Something I didn't already know."

House frowns at him. "You're starting to sound like me." There's a bitterness in his voice that is decidedly not Wilson-like.

"What can I say?" He casts a sideways glance at his ex. "That biting wit rubs off." She forces a narrow-eyed smile, obviously recognizing her own words, before turning her head away. It's impossible to miss the tears pooling in her eyes.

"What did Brown say? A year? Maybe less?"

House nods. "Because it's inoperable. Radiation and chemo are possible but they'll only buy you a little time." Wilson already knows that, understands the treatment and its miserable effects even better than he does, but he needs to say something or he'll go crazy standing here.

"Yeah." Julie's tears are falling now and Wilson turns to her. House is expecting him to offer her some sort of comfort but is surprised when he asks her to leave. "Could you, ah… I need to talk to House."

She nods and stands, dabbing at her eyes. "How about some coffee?"

"Yeah. Sure." House just nods. She leaves, and tears fill Wilson's eyes. House can actually feel them in his own. He doesn't like it; emotion is messy.

"It's ironic," the oncologist whispers. Not intentionally, House is sure.

House sits on the bed and reaches out, ignoring his own discomfort to put his arms around his friend. Wilson lets himself be pulled in close, resting his head on House's chest. His body begins to tremble and House can feel tears soaking through his shirt. It's not the dampness that makes him uncomfortable. It's the unaccustomed, almost suffocating closeness that he'd never suffer through for anyone.

Anyone but Jimmy, at least.

-------------------------

By four o'clock, House has grown tired of watching the ducklings mope around the office. "Get out of here. Go away. Get some rest; get drunk; get high; get laid. Just, leave the hospital for no less than twelve hours."

Foreman stares at him, passive surprise on his face. "You're throwing us out?"

"Um… does 'get out' not translate into whatever the mother country's native tongue is?" Foreman's eyes narrow as Chase stands up.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm going before he changes his mind and sends us back to the clinic to mop floors or something."

"So, Chase has the 'get laid' part covered. Cameron, I figure that leaves you to get high, Foreman to go to bed, and me to get drunk. Sound good? Good. Good-bye. Kill the light on your way out."

-------------------------

Foreman doesn't even take off his tie before he sits down at his computer. He pulls up every study he can think of about the treatment of brainstem tumors. It's useless; everything just confirms what he already knows. He needs a beer.

-------------------------

Cameron pours herself a third glass of wine and stares out the window at the starry night sky. The television is on, an old movie that always makes her cry. But not today. Movies, no matter how sad and bittersweet, have nothing on reality.

-------------------------

Chase sits down in the back corner of a local bar, nursing a glass of whiskey. He's not a big fan but he needs something strong to take the edge off. A pretty redhead with all the right curves tosses a smile his way but he doesn't smile back.

-------------------------

Cuddy sits alone in the corridor outside Wilson's room, staring at the closed door, the darkened window. She's never wanted to be anything but a doctor but right now she doesn't want to be anywhere near a hospital. So why is she still here?

-------------------------

It's midnight and House is still sitting in his office, in the dark. His pill bottle is locked in a cabinet so he doesn't get any stupid ideas as he drowns himself in Jack Daniels. He bounces his ball against the floor, the sound echoing against emptiness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** As much as I adore Jimmy Wilson, I do not own him or any aspect of House. I'm going to go cry now. 

**Chapter 5**

"We have a problem." House limps into the conference room and, using his cane, pushes down the top of Foreman's newspaper.

"With who?"

"Wilson."

Cameron's eyes go wide, panic obviously setting in. She's really got to learn to control that. "What happened?

"Nothing. Except that the tumor isn't the answer."

Foreman roles his eyes and shakes his newspaper until it straightens itself out. "House, we've done an MRI. We found the tumor. It's an anaplastic astrocytoma. Sudden deterioration like we're seeing in Wilson happens with malignant astrocytoma. We've diagnosed it. It sucks, but there it is." Now, that's the Foreman he knows and loves.

"I'm not blind; I know he has a tumor. But…" he frowns, taking another tactic. "A brainstem tumor causes what?" He crosses to the whiteboard, on which all Wilson's symptoms are listed.

"Behavioral and emotional changes," Cameron starts, "Which Wilson doesn't have, but not having one or two symptoms doesn't mean--"

"I _said_ that I know he has a tumor. I know it's cancer. I'm the realist here; you're the ever-hopeful suck-up. Just keep going."

"Trouble speaking, drowsiness, headache." House crosses them off as Foreman lists them. "Hearing loss, weakness on one side of the face and body, trouble walking, vision loss, crossed eyes, vomiting. But he doesn't have to have all of them. Especially, you know, since we've seen and biopsied the damn tumor."

"What part of what I just said don't you understand?" House steps back from the whiteboard. "I don't care what he doesn't have. I care what he has."

The words 'memory loss' and 'seizure' are circled. "Our biggest symptom, and our diagnosis doesn't explain it."

Foreman slowly shakes his head, mouth slightly open, probably preparing to protest. Then his eyes skim back over the board. "Damn."

"What else… we went through possible causes of seizures." Chase frowns. "This was what we came up with. This was it."

"Apparently not. What else is there?"

"Maybe an aneurysm that ruptured?"

"Maybe another tumor." Chase and Foreman turn to Cameron and House nods; kid is learning. Maybe. "What? We missed this because brain tumors do cause seizures, memory problems. Just not tumors in the particular location where we found this one. Maybe there's another."

"We only found the one on the MRI."

"That's because we stopped looking for anything else when we saw it. We haven't done the CT scan yet. It could have been very small, too."

"Do it," House orders. "And hope that this one's operable."

Chase shakes his head. "Two tumors in his brain. That's highly unlikely."

"When was the last time we dealt with something that was _likely_?" Cameron points out. "It's possible. That's what matters."

She _is _learning; he's just not sure why she's picking _now_ to stand up for herself. "Foreman, I want a CT scan now. Cameron, tell Wilson."

-------------------------

"How you feeling?"

"I've been better."

Cameron closes the door behind her and hovers nervously by his bedside. Wilson eyes her warily, wondering whether he's done something or House has. Probably House. "What's going on?"

She's bouncing on the balls of her feet now and staring at everything but him. "Cameron, what on Earth--"

"We… we screwed up, Wilson. All of us." She practically spits the words at him and tears track down her cheeks.

"What?" He struggles to a sitting position and in the end she stops bouncing and avoiding his eyes and moves to help him up.

"The tumor we found doesn't explain all the symptoms. House was getting worried about your memory problems and went back to the drawing board. Er, the whiteboard. Anyway, we found the tumor and jumped to conclusions, but there has to be something more. A brainstem tumor doesn't cause seizures and memory loss. It's in the wrong place."

"You're babbling," he tells her gently, but smiles in spite of himself, in spite of her.

"I know. I just… God, we were so stupid." She drops into a chair and rests her forehead in her hands.

"Cameron, I'm an oncologist and it didn't cross my mind."

"You have an excuse," she mumbles into her lap.

"The tumor isn't impairing my ability to think, or long-term recall."

"No, but you're dying. I'd say that gives you license to not be at the top of your game. The rest of us should have been. Especially now. Especially…" she trails off, the last words not needing to be spoken.

"Cameron…" He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Attempting to convince her not to blame himself is a lost cause. "Why did House send you?"

"Either he's testing my ability to deliver bad news or he's feeling guilty. Care to bet?"

"He shouldn't feel guilty." Also a lost cause.

"Well, just because he shouldn't doesn't mean he's not going to. Besides… we screwed up. We _should_."

"Not as much as I did."

She raises her head, finally. "You didn't--"

"I knew."

Cameron blinks. "You knew what?"

"About the tumor. Before the seizure, I knew."

Her eyes go wide. "What?"

"Dizzy spells, nausea. I was having trouble seeing, and I had a headache so bad that I passed out in my office from the pain. I knew what it was, what it had to be… what it would _mean_, and I couldn't deal with it." He shrugs, uncomfortable under her gaze. "So I didn't."

"Wilson--"

"It was just like with your HIV test. As long as I didn't go in, get tested, then I didn't have to really face facts."

"Wilson." She says his name sharply, forcing him to shut up and listen. "I don't know what we'll find in the CT scan. But the astrocytoma on the brainstem… a few days, even a couple of weeks wouldn't have made a difference. You have enough to deal with, without beating yourself up over this."

"Cameron--" He shakes his head and sighs.

"You know I'm right. All those symptoms you just mentioned, they can be attributed to the tumor we've already found. You could have come in a month ago and you'd be no better off now than you already are. Don't blame yourself. Or I'll tell House and he'll put you in your place."

"He does that enough without being given a reason." He hesitates, not sure he wants to ask the question. "Where is he?"

A strange look passes through her eyes, a sort of pain he can't understand, at the question. "I think he's feeling guilty."

"He shouldn't feel guilty." Not that that'll make a difference.

Cameron looks ready to cry and says softly, "I know." Then her pager sounds. She pulls it off her hip and glances at the message. "They've scheduled you for a CT scan."

-------------------------

"We have good news." Foreman hands House the results of the CT. "Small tumor in the parietal lobe. Accounts for the seizures and the memory problems. And it should be operable."

"Cameron."

She pushes herself up out of the chair. "So you're going to let me deliver the good news, too? Nice. Or you could, y'know, go talk to your friend yourself."

House ignores her. "He'll agree to the biopsy, so arrange it now. Foreman, you take care of that. Chase, arrange the surgery for a couple days from now. If it turns out it's inoperable, then we'll cancel it."

Cameron hangs back after the boys trot off to do House's bidding, determined to make another attempt. "When I was down there last, he was asking for you."

He waves it off. "Don't worry; he probably doesn't remember." Callous.

"He may not remember asking for you, but he'll remember the suspicious absence of his best friend. And it's only a matter of time before he'll start to resent you for it."

"Whatever. Go tell him. And be glad you're not telling him that he has only three months to live instead of six, or whatever it was."

"House."

"Out."

"No. He's your best friend and he's in a lot of pain, and it's hurting him even more that you won't come down."

"I saw him yesterday. We talked. He cried. We hugged and I gave him such a pretty bouquet of roses. He cried more. Happy?"

"Yes, because I'm sure that made everything all better. He can die with a smile on his face now." She huffs, smacks the file against her thigh, and stalks out.

-------------------------

"How you feeling?" She's _got_ to come up with another greeting. It's just so damn hard to think of anything to say. What do you say to a terminal patient? 'Got plans for the weekend?'

"House send you with more bad news he doesn't have the guts to deliver himself?" There's not the slightest hint of amusement in his voice; his tone pains her.

"Half right." She offers him the biggest smile she can muster, which isn't much. "More news, but I think it's pretty good. We found a very small growth in the parietal lobe. It accounts for the memory problems and your seizures. Foreman said that it should be operable. House is already scheduling a biopsy and the surgery. Of course, if you don't want it, he can cancel."

"No, it's fine."

"You're sure?" Why she's asking she doesn't really know. What had she expected him to say?

A wan smile plays over his face. "I'm sure. But don't tell him that."

She blinks. "What?"

"Don't tell him that. Tell him I'm refusing treatment."

"Wilson--"

"He wants to be a bastard and hide out in his office, then I can play the game too. Tell him."

She's taken aback by the tone of his voice, but less so once she recognizes the pain underlying it. "Wilson, you're right. But… I really think he's doing it as much for your good as his."

"How do you figure that?" He frowns, his expression pained. "How, exactly, does his not being here help me?"

"Because he doesn't know how to deal with it. He doesn't visit patients because he doesn't want to get involved, because he doesn't want to get to know them. He avoids patients as much because he doesn't want to care as because they annoy him. But he can't do that with you. He's already involved; he already cares. And it scares him."

"Again, how is his absence helping me?"

"Because if he isn't here, he's not putting his pain onto you. Which he would do, automatically, and you would take it, automatically. You have enough to deal with without him crying on _your_ shoulder. And, I guess in a way he's right to stay away. Until he gets a grip, he's not going to be able to help you."

Wilson's frown lifts slightly but he shakes his head. "Tell him anyway."

She sighs and rises, unable to deny that lying to House will give her some sort of perverse pleasure. At least, as long as she ignores the fact that it will hurt him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** As much as I adore Jimmy Wilson, I do not own him or any aspect of House. I'm going to go cry now.

**A/N:** Another short chapter, but I wanted to break it before the surgery. 

**Chapter 6**

House glares at Cameron when she comes back in. "Don't you have someone to take care of or marry or something?"

"Yeah, Wilson."

His glare deepens and then softens. "Has he proposed yet?"

She rolls her eyes. "No, and at this rate he's not going to live long enough to. It's a shame; I've seen his ex's engagement ring. It was beautiful. Wouldn't mind having a rock that size."

He arches an eyebrow but continues to glare. "What do you mean, at this rate?"

"He's…" she hesitates, glancing away, and he contemplates shaking it out of her but she starts talking again before he moves. "He's refusing treatment. I guess he figures that he's going to die soon enough anyway, rather not deal with being sick from the chemo and radiation."

"You're joking."

She meets his eyes. "Do I look like I am?"

"No, but Wilson isn't that stupid."

"Wilson knows better than anyone what's going to happen to him, if he goes the chemo route or just rides it out. It's not the first time someone's made this choice. It's easy to tell a patient to give themselves a little more time if you're on our side of the fence. But if you're on the other side, what's the point of an extra six months if you're miserable, sick, in pain, and bedridden the whole time?"

"He's _not_ that stupid."

"Apparently he is." She threw up her hands. "Send Chase or Foreman to talk to him if you want to. He's not listening to me."

"No, they won't talk him into hanging around; they're more likely to talk him into hastening his earthly departure." He hauls himself out of his chair, leaning heavily on his cane before raising it menacingly. "I'm gonna go bash some sense into him with this."

He hobbles down the hall to the elevator and by the time he reaches Wilson's door, he's good and worked up -- and angry. "You idiot." It's not an exclamation that he makes as he walks into his friend's room. It's a simple statement of fact.

Wilson _is_ an idiot. A dying idiot. But then, those are often the most idiotic kind of idiots.

"Pardon?"

"Oh, don't mind me. I just came down to sign your release papers. Make sure you tell Julie to give me a call about the funeral. I'll need as much notice as possible; I'm pretty well booked for the next three months. Anything beyond that, I'm fairly wide open. But you won't make it that long, so I probably won't be able to come."

Wilson stares at him. "Nice. Oh well, no great loss. Not like I've seen you much the last couple days anyway; what do you need to come to my funeral for?"

House latches on to the first word and ignores the rest. There'll be time for dealing with that later. "Yeah, as nice as you refusing treatment. You're an idiot."

"I got you down here though, didn't it?"

It's House's turn to stare. "What did you say?"

"I said, it got you down here."

"You lied to Cameron?"

"No, I made her lie to you." Wilson smiles, a real genuine smile. House glares.

"For what?"

"Because I was sick of you hiding up in your office like I'm just another patient."

House meets his words with silence. And then, "You are."

Wilson looks like House has just slapped him across the face. And, he supposes, maybe he has. "What?"

House ignores him; it's safer that way, for him at least. "So, you are accepting treatment? And you'll have the second tumor removed?"

And Wilson ignores him. "What did you mean by that?"

"I meant, are you going to walk out of here and die or are you going to let us give you little pills and try to make you _allllllll_ healthy again?"

"Not--" Wilson breaks off, shaking his head in unmistakable disgust. Get out. Just go back to being miserable and keep sending Cameron to do your dirty work for you. She's a lot more pleasant to look at. And, actually, to talk to. Not that you'd know what that means."

House hesitates, the realization that he's gone too far sinking in, albeit slowly and far too late to do anything to fix it. Not that he can think of anything. "Wilson--"

"Get out," he repeats. "I don't want to see you again."

"Jimmy," he tries once more, because he can't leave without giving it one more shot, however weak, but Wilson rolls over in bed, turning his back to him without another word.

-------------------------

"Plan didn't work, huh?" Cameron's leaning in the doorway, arms folded across her chest with a sad smile on her face. Her clipboard is in one hand.

"I told him I didn't like him treating me like just another patient. He told me I _am_ just another patient." The memory of his so-called friend's words still hurts more than he'd like to admit.

"He's scared of losing you, and he doesn't know how to cope with you being sick. He can't physically run away--"

"He's doing a good job of it, regardless."

"Well… yes. That's what he's best at. He's just dealing with it in the way only House can." She's making excuses for him and it sounds eerily familiar, something he'd be doing himself if the situation were different.

But it isn't, and he's stuck in this bed, at least until they cut open his head and hopefully leave him able to function on his own, outside the hospital walls. And that's all he can think about. There's too much self-pity in his head for him to feel any sort of sympathy toward House. "What about me?"

Cameron blinks, surprise registering in her eyes. "That… I think that's the most selfish thing I've ever heard you say."

"I..." Stung, he doesn't know how to respond. So he stares at her instead.

But then her smile widens just a bit. "That's a good thing, Wilson. You're sick and House is your best friend and he's being even more of an ass than usual -- which, incidentally, I didn't think was even possible. You have every right to be selfish, to put yourself first for once. House always does."

"It's not--"

Cameron cuts him off. "It _is_ an excuse; it's the best excuse in the world. I don't think anyone has more right to say 'why me' than someone who's terminally ill. You've spent the last ten or twelve years trying desperately to save your patients -- and House -- and not thinking of yourself at all. You're sick. It's time to put yourself first for once."

"I've always been there for him," he says quietly. "I don't think I know how not to be." He doesn't; he's tried. So many times House has pushed him past the breaking point. He's no longer sure whether it's devoted friendship or his own need that keeps him coming back for more. Right now he's leaning toward devotion, because he can't figure out what, exactly, House actually gives him. Other than heartburn and an aggravated ulcer.

"All the more reason to be angry with him now. It's his turn to support you; you have the right to expect him to. And he's not doing it."

"Well, being angry isn't exactly going to make a difference, is it?"

She shakes her head. "It never does with him. But… he's not trying to be a bastard. Take it as a sign of how much he really cares about you."

"Right."

"You should, Wilson." She gives his strong hand a squeeze. "The surgery is scheduled for Thursday morning. I'll see if I can get House to pull his head out of his ass before then."

He gives her a wan smile and thanks her quietly. After she leaves, he lies back, staring at the ceiling. He tries, out of stubbornness, to brush his hair from his eyes using his left hand. But he hasn't adjusted to the weakness yet and it's more of a struggle than it should be. In the end he gives up and uses his still-strong right. "Damn it."

He wraps an arm across his stomach, constantly threatening to rebel, and shuts his eyes against the spinning room. Tears prick at his eyes but he refuses to let them fall.

Cancer is his business. He delivers this news to patients on a daily basis --to children, on a daily basis. And he can't handle getting it himself?

He stops holding back and cries himself to sleep. His best friend never does show up.

-------------------------

House skirts the nurse's station, not wanting to deal with their scalding glares. What do they know, anyway?

Wilson's room is dark; the man is lying perfectly in the middle of the bed when he walks in, but he's clearly been having a rough night. The sheets are twisted around his legs; the pillow sits an inch or so from his head.

House eyes the monitors and decides to take the chance and give his friend a little helping hand. He straightens the top sheet and adjusts Wilson so his head is actually resting on the pillow.

Then he settles into one of the ridiculously uncomfortable chairs, pops a Vicodin, and stretches out his leg. And he watches Wilson sleep.

Until one of the night nurses comes in and chases him out, after he makes her promise not to mention that she's seen him at all.

Never mind that she's seen him every night this week.


End file.
